Author's note: Thank you very much for the reviews, suggestions and requests; I accept requests and see if I can insert them one way or another in the story so feel free to let me know if you have something you'd like to read here.
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Chapter Seven – A Season In Hell
From: mauraisles
To: angelarizzoli
Subject: Our Hikes in Maine
Dear Angela,
You will find enclosed a dozen of photos I took from our first hike on Mount Kineo. Yes, "our". As a matter of fact, it is Jane who made the suggestion. All alone. I didn't push her to do so. She suddenly decided that she needed to see the world again. We had to take a small ferry in the village of Rockwood as the Mount can't be reached any other way.
We spent a fantastic day out there combining two trails to reach the summit that overlooks the lake.
We had prepared everything meticulously and had checked the weather forecast thanks to an old radio transistor that Dan and Martha had lent us. They are a very nice couple. Adorable hosts.
Whenever I see Martha, I can't help thinking about you. You are both alike and she makes me realize that I miss you a lot.
We also organized a snail race. None of the ones we had bet on won though but we had fun. We really had. Seven of them showed up one afternoon on our covered porch and it took them thirty minutes to cross it. Thirty minutes during which we talked and joked. You should have seen Jane. She was being herself again.
The weather has been quite bad these past few days. It rains a lot and makes it hard for us to go out. As we don't have any television set, we need to find another way to spend time. Jane has been reading a lot. The flower glossary was just the beginning. She is now in the middle of Letter To a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. As a matter of fact, I guess that she is about to finish it. She takes her time when reading it as if she wanted to keep in mind every single word written in it. I guess she finds it inspiring.
The cabin is still quiet but the atmosphere is ligther. Something is happening. I can feel it.
She is doing better. I can see her improve every day. The nightmares haven't disappeared but she finally put this lethargy behind and she is also a lot more talkative. The road is long, and bumpy. But I honestly think that we are heading in the right direction.
Thank you very much for letting us know how everyone is doing. Of course, it is still too early for anyone to visit but I am sure that - by the summer - you will be able to come here. If only for a few days. We will have so many things to show you; so many things to catch back on. And you will see it with your own eyes: Jane is doing better, she really is.
It is still hard for her to talk about what happened but she seems to understand now that her guilt has no reason to be.
The last paragraphs had come up by themselves, very easily. But all of a sudden, Maura started staring blankly at the screen of the computer while her fingers stopped their ballet on the keyboard. Her brain froze. She hadn't answered a question - the most important one to Angela's eyes – because she knew that her answer would hurt the woman.
No, Jane never mentioned any of her relatives – friends – or colleagues. She didn't talk about Boston. She had put a distance between her and them.
She waved at the waitress then pointed out her mug of coffee. She needed a refill. Caffeine would help her find a way to overcome the distress she felt at the perspective of answering Angela.
She couldn't remain silent, she couldn't pretend to forget about such specific point. She wouldn't fool anyone anyway and her absence of answer would hurt a lot more than all the words she could use to let them know that Jane hadn't reached that stage yet.
She lived in a secluded world for the moment. A fragile - sensitive - world.
...
"I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still."
Jane pronounced the sentences out loud. Over and over. She carefully listened to every sound, to every single syllable. Then she let the meaning of these three sentences reach the fog of her mind until they made it a bit clearer.
Their beauty embraced her almost unexpectedly. She closed her eyes – leaned her head backwards – and smiled.
A honest smile.
She had chosen this anthology for its title and nothing else. A Season in Hell. It sounded dark enough to match with her current state of mind even if she had to admit that it wasn't as dark as it had been once.
She didn't know the poet. She didn't know the context that had pushed him to write these poems but words had rarely touched her as his were now doing. Rainer Maria Rilke still echoed in her head – in her heart – but going from Letters To a Young Poet to Arthur Rimbaud's work hadn't been as hard as she had imagined it to be.
She had finished the book just as Maura had driven off to Greenville. For long minutes, she had stared at it; uncertain of what she was supposed to do. Bringing it back to Martha seemed logical enough but she wasn't ready for that.
I like to call it 'renaissance'. It is this exact moment when you begin to understand that you are coming back to life and that every single detail that gives you this feeling seems to wear the weight of a symbol.
You aren't waking up from a dream – you aren't waking up from a nightmare – but you are actually going through a second birth; a more intense one as it is brought up by experiences of the past. You will feel new but not naive nor fragile. Your past will be your strength. You might not believe me yet but it will strike you one day. It will, Jane.
The only issue was that she wasn't sure she wanted to be born again.
She hadn't said it to the psychatrist but she had thought a lot about it. It was a matter of perspectives, of perception. Of angles. She was getting a new skin and new eyes to observe the world that lay – bare and innocent in all its complexity – an inch away from her. Touching it was tempting.
Tempting but vile.
A knock on the sliding doors put an end to her introspection. Martha joyfully waved at her as soon as Jane looked in her direction.
"Is Maura here?"
"No, she's still in Greenville. She... She goes there once a week for the groceries and to send emails to Boston."
Jane hadn't seen Martha when she had finally found the courage to choose another book. Dan had told her to go to their living-room all by herself while he would stay at the reception desk. He was busy checking the latest bookings they had received.
She wasn't much in the mood for a talk with the woman but her education won over her desires of loneliness so she invited Martha to come in.
"You didn't go to Greenville with her?" Martha shrugged, apologetically. "It must be a very boring town anyway for Bostonians."
"Oh no, I'm not... Greenville looks nice but I... I'm not ready. I'm not ready for it...?"
Jane's statement turned into a vague question that highlighted the uncertainty of her mind. Martha didn't know why she and Maura had come here. It was delicate to talk about it. She didn't feel like going through the whole explanation thing again only to hear in the end that she wasn't guilty. People's compassion got on her nerves.
"That's okay. I don't need to know anything. Your partner looks after you... Just as you look after her. You are an adorable – loving – couple. The rest doesn't matter."
Something contracted in her chest. Her lungs hurt as she expelled the air and the sound of a laugh passed her lips. Her voice loudly rose. Clear. Perfect. Sincere. She was laughing. Jane was laughing again. It hadn't happened for such a long time that her muscles hurt under the effort.
And then it stopped just as suddenly as it had happened. It stopped when she realized what Martha's words meant. Her cheeks began to burn. She turned around to hide her blushing.
"Unless you are married? I'm sorry, I... I'm not sure...?" Martha cleared her voice. She didn't feel comfortable anymore. Had she missed something? "You know, Dan and I belong to the old generation but we both think love is love. I mean it is okay."
Jane nodded but didn't add anything.
She didn't understand why – all of a sudden – it troubled her that someone could assume she and Maura were a couple. It had happened in the past, and more than once. But it had never set off the panic that she could now feel before it.
"Anyway... I was stopping by to share with Maura my blueberry pie recipe. She asked for it yesterday but I couldn't find back. I finally did. I wrote it down on this sheet of paper." Martha waved a small purple envelope and put it down on the coffee table. "I leave it here..."
"We are not a couple."
Her lack of interaction pushed Jane to be a tad too direct with people whenever she had to express herself. She didn't like the awkwardness that emanated from it but then she didn't have much of a hold over it either.
"Oh!" Martha looked extremely surprised. "I'm sorry, I just assumed... I don't know. It seemed so..." Her apologetic laugh warmly rose in the air. "Never mind, then!"
-What are you the most afraid of? The nightmares? The panic attacks? The mood swings? The haze caused by your treatment? What is the only thing you really have a hard time to face and accept in all of this?
-To feel anything but pain... Because by then, I'll know that it'll mean I am not really dead. Feelings of happiness, of joy...
-Of love?
-... Yes.
